


Rumor Has It

by livtontea



Series: Reginald Die Challenge [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Because Author is a Slut for OP Characters, Character Death, Crying, Expansion and Exploration of Allison's Powers, Faked Suicide, Gen, Good Sister Allison Hargreeves, Murder, No Incest, Probably OOC But Oh Well, Sibling Bonding, Staged Suicide, Well - Freeform, breakdowns, no beta we die like reggie, that's more accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 19:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livtontea/pseuds/livtontea
Summary: Not to flatter herself, but Allison is a great actress. There's no doubt about it. It's almost impossible not to be, with all of her secrets.





	Rumor Has It

**Author's Note:**

> The main point I had kinda got away from me, but I like this fic anyways. Yes I know I need to stop making their powers more than they actually are. Will I? No.
> 
> Mentions of suicide at the very end, so be careful!

Not to flatter herself, but Allison is a great actress. There's no doubt about it. It's almost impossible not to be, with all of her secrets. Allison is a great actress, and naturally, with that comes some knowledge of manipulation. That's all acting really is, isn't it?

It's simple. When asked about her powers, she smiles coyly and twirls a strand of her hair around her finger, batting her eyelashes and saying that oh, she would love to tell you, really, but it's important that nobody except her and her team knows, you see. After all, criminals do sometimes watch the news.

When somebody questions her morals she derails with a short quip, saying something like “I’m just trying to make the world a better place. Nobody’s perfect, you know? I just hope what I’m doing with my family makes a positive impact.”

When she’s asked to Rumor people, over and over and over again, all it takes is a smile and “Dad, you don’t want me to do that. Really, my training is the last thing on your mind right now. Didn’t you have to write a letter to the prime minister of France?”

When her siblings tell her she can’t play with them, because “Your power isn’t combat-oriented, Allie. It’s just hypnosis. You can’t protect yourself very well with hypnosis,” all Allison has to do is sigh in acceptance and tell them she’s going to go study for their next language test, then.

It’s silly, to think that something like her power could be restrained to hypnosis. No. She can meld minds. Twist people’s will against them. Her siblings may have force, but Allison has control.

Reality is a box of play-dough, and she’s the gleeful six-year-old ready to sculpt anything her heart desires. And nobody knows. Nobody at all. Because Allison has taken great care for that part of her power to remain… unnoticed.

That’s the thing. Even Dad, who is the master manipulator, you could say, is easily manipulated himself. And he doesn’t even know it. None of them do. That’s what deception is all about.

Allison also loves her siblings. This one is more of an open secret. She doesn’t hide it, but she doesn’t walk around telling her brothers and Vanya she would quite possibly die for them.

She would. That’s why when Klaus stumbles into her room one night with pale sweaty skin and a haunted look in his eyes, asking if he could borrow a skirt and maybe a necklace, Allison pulls him onto the floor and starts to paint his nails.

“You’re going to be okay,” she mumbles as the brush leaves another streak of pink on Klaus’s nail. “It’s going to be fine. Hey, I bet you won’t even have any nightmares tonight.”

Klaus laughs, wet and sad. “God, I hope so.” He won’t. She knows he won’t have them.

Allison hums. “These are drying pretty fast.” They are now. “Here. What color do you want next?”

Klaus points at a bottle of bright orange polish. It shimmers under the dim light of Allison’s desk lamp. “That one,” he says. “And then after that, can you do my next nail in blue?”

“‘Course,” Allison says. So far four out of ten nails are painted. Purple, green, yellow and pink. Normally Allison wouldn’t paint each finger a different color, because it takes too long. But hey, she has a hunch that tonight curfew is going to be an hour later than usual.

Orange and blue nail polish cover Klaus’s right-hand pinkie and left-hand thumb respectively.

“Alright. What’s next?”

“Um.” Klaus frowns at the bottles of nail polish lined up on Allison’s floor. “Can you do… That one?” He tries hesitantly. Allison knows why. The glitter polish Klaus is pointing at is the only one she never lets others use.

But tonight seems like a good night for one-time-only exceptions.

“Okay,” agrees Allison, picking up the red bottle. “But just this once, got it?”

Klaus’s mouth falls open in a round little “o”. He’s quick to close it, a smile spreading across his lips. Good.

“Thank you, Allie.”

She rolls her eyes in fake annoyance. “Oh, shut up. Do you want me to do the rest with this one?” Klaus only has four nails left, and it’ll make his hands look really uneven, but this polish is… really pretty, she must say.

“Could you do my pinkie black?” Klaus asks. “And have the other three in that one?”

Allison eyes Klaus’s four fingernails. She shrugs, nodding. “Sure, why not? Give me your hand.”

Once she’s done, Klaus has eight different colors on his hands. Black, glitter red, blue, pink, purple, green, yellow, and orange, in that order, left to right.

Allison scoots back, admiring her work.

“You look great,” she tells her brother. “I have a skirt that’ll go with your nails.”

That’s a lie. Nothing could go with so many colors at once, but there’s a tie-dye skirt in her closet. Whether it had been there before or not is nobody’s business.

Allison stands up. Klaus starts to do the same, but Allison pushes down on his shoulders, keeping him on the ground. “You’ll mess up your nails,” she warns. “Wait until they’re dry.”

Klaus sighs. “Alright.”

Allison rummages through her closet, looking for the skirt. She finds it at the very back, a mess of colors and prints, reaching about to her knees.

“Here,” she says. “Your nails should be dry now.”

Klaus eagerly stands up and reaches for the garment. He shimmies out of his uniform shorts, then wiggles into the skirt, twirling around.

“It feels nice,” he comments. “I like it.”

“You better,” jokes Allison. “Or you’ll never get to borrow a skirt from me again.”

Klaus gasps. He looks better now, some of the color returning to his face and the shadows behind his eyes shrinking. He looks more… alive, she thinks. Present.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

Klaus laughs. Allison does too. Once they calm down, Klaus looks down at his freshly painted nails and sighs.

“I’m going to have to take the nail polish off before breakfast,” he laments. “Pity.”

Allison bites her lip. On one hand, she probably shouldn’t. On the other…

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “I’ll ask if you can keep it on, for tomorrow.”

Klaus looks up at Allison, a grin of disbelief on his face. “You’d do that?” he asks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Allison puts her arms on her hips, sticking her nose in the air like one of those girls in the movies about highschoolers. “If Dad doesn’t notice your nails the entire day, that’s his fault for being unobservant.”

Klaus laughs. “Thanks, Allie.”

“You’re welcome,” declares Allison. “And you can keep the skirt. It looks better on you than it ever did on me anyway.”

Klaus grins again. His eyes suddenly look very damp. Allison sighs.

“You want a hug, don’t you.”

Klaus nods, looking too happy for words. Allison spreads her arms, letting him dash into the hug and wraps his skinny arms around her back.

“Thank you,” he says into her shoulder. “You’re a great sister, you know?”

“Of course I am. I’m good at everything.” She doubts it. A good sister would have stopped this from happening in the first place. A good sister would make sure her siblings are safe and happy instead of struggling to survive.

Klaus leaves Allison’s room that night with freshly painted fingernails and a tie-dye skirt. And if the skirt actually has pockets, one of which contains an unopened tube of mascara, that’s completely on accident.

The next day at breakfast, Klaus’s fingernails are still painted, and nobody calls him out on it. The only comments he gets are a “Your nails look cool” from Diego and an agreeing hum from Ben.

Two weeks later Allison finds Vanya alone in her room, crying. Allison hesitates before knocking on the door. As soon as she does, the already quiet sobs go completely silent.

Slow and unsure footsteps approach the door from the other side.

Vanya opens the door. “Allison?”

“Yeah. Are you… okay?”

Vanya looks down at her shoes, ducking her head so her bangs cover her eyes. “Yeah,” she mumbles. “I’m fine.”

Allison frowns. “Don’t lie.”

Vanya flinches. She doesn’t try to defend herself. Allison sighs, reaching out and taking Vanya’s hand in hers.

“Wh-what are you doing?” squeaks Vanya.

“Well, you’re obviously upset, but because you’re not giving me anything to work with, I’m going to sit with you until you talk.” Allison drags Vanya back into her room, kicking the door shut behind her.

“Come on,” she says, softer. “Want me to braid your hair?”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be? Training?” Vanya asks wetly.

Allison shrugs. “Dad moved it down. I’ve got some time.” A minute ago, that would have been false.

Vanya takes a shaky breath. “O-okay. You can, you can braid my hair.”

“Thanks,” says Allison.

Vanya sits down on her bed, and Allison sits behind her. Her hands reach up and gently grasp Vanya’s hair, separating it into three sections.

“Your hair’s soft,” she comments as she begins weaving the three chunks together.

“Um. Thanks.”

The two girls sit on Vanya’s bed for a while, Allison braiding, unbraiding, and rebraiding Vanya’s hair. Eventually, Vanya starts to relax, her ragged breathing calming down. She begins leaning into Allison.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong now?” Allison says, her voice quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment. Vanya sighs.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” she admits. “It’s like. There’s really nothing actually _wrong_, you know? I just.”

Allison brushes a wisp away from her sister’s forehead.

“I don’t know.”

A moment of quiet, and then, “Allison?”

She hums in acknowledgment, wordlessly encouraging her sister to keep talking.

“There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there.”

Allison’s hands freeze.

“What?”

“I mean, I don’t have powers. I’m supposed to have powers, right? I’m supposed to be fighting with you guys, saving the day. But all I have is my violin, and… I’m not even that good. I’m just average. I’m just ordinary.” Vanya takes a breath, shaky and deep. “Dad keeps saying that I’m disappointing. I can’t even get those runs in the Stravinsky right, and it’s all I have, it’s all that makes me myself, and I just--”

“Hey.” Allison lets go of Vanya’s hair, getting up and walking around to face her sister then sitting on the bed in her new spot. She frowns at Vanya. “That’s not. That isn’t right. You’re not ordinary.”

“Yeah, I am,” Vanya says, suddenly sharp and bitter. “I can’t exactly teleport or lift a thousand pounds, can I?”

“No, that’s not…” Allison reaches over and places her hand over Vanya’s. “Not having powers doesn’t mean you’re useless,” she whispers.

“That’s exactly what it means!” Vanya throws up her hand. The one that’s laying in her lap, not the one Allison is half-holding.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes it does! I can’t go on missions, so I’m useless. I can’t play the violin, so I’m useless. I can’t even get Dad to say he’s proud of me, so I’m useless!”

Allison blinks. Dad. It’s Dad.

“What did he do?” she asks, quiet and firm. Vanya deflates, sighing and dragging her hand down the side of her face.

“He just… He just keeps being so _disappointed_ in me. It’s not my fault I don’t have powers, right? It’s not my fault I have anxiety or I’m bad at violin. But he makes it sound like it _is_, and I don't know what to do anymore.”

Allison bites her lip.

“I don’t know what to do,” Vanya repeats. Like a broken record, is the thought that comes to Allison’s mind. All of them are broken.

“Well,” Allison takes Vanya’s other hand too, so they’re sitting across from each other, hands being held. “I think you’re pretty special. Dad’s wrong.”

“How? He’s never wrong.”

“That’s not true.” She would know. “You’re really good at the violin. I mean, I don’t even know how to read music, and you’re up here in your room playing famous pieces! And you play them well, okay? Klaus likes it.”

“He does?”

Allison shrugs, her shoulder moving up and then down. “Yeah. He listens to you play when he has time. I do too. You’re special. And-- And even if you weren’t, you’re our sister, alright?”

When Vanya doesn’t say anything, Allison repeats it again, quieter and slightly altering the line. God, wouldn’t it be so much easier if she had a concrete script to follow?

“You’re my sister.”

It’s another moment before Vanya speaks again, quiet.

“Thanks, Allison. But is that really enough?”

Allison leaves Vanya’s room that night with her jaw clenched tight and her lips pressed together in a thin line. Vanya falls asleep soon after, thinking of how her father may be horribly bad at being a parent, but at least her sister is good at playing the role of a sibling.

It keeps happening. Allison runs into one of her siblings, or they run into her. The ongoing theme is that they always either have tears streaming down their face, or a haunted faraway look in their eyes.

One time Diego has blood running into his eye from a deep cut on his eyebrow. It scars.

Luther’s hands are shaking, shaking, shaking, and Allison can’t make them stop, not even when she grips his hands in hers and squeezes. Not even when she mumbles that it’s going to be okay.

Ben is crying, hands wrapped around his stomach like he’s trying to keep everything inside from ripping out. Allison hugs him, and he sobs into her shoulder for a good ten minutes.

Five.

Five trips into her room late at night, skin pale and breathing quick, legs weak under his weight. She gets up and runs over to him just in time for him to fall into her arms. Five is crying. He never cries.

“It’s pointless,” he sobs. “I’m not-- I’m not good enough, Allie.” He almost never calls her that.

She doesn’t say anything, because what is there to say? They both know what the problem is.

“He’ll never love us,” Five continues. “He can’t. He’s a monster, Allison. He’s just going to make us keep going and going until we’re gone.” He takes a shuddering breath. Allison has been rubbing her hand up and down his back since the beginning. “I don’t wanna die,” her brother gasps out. “I don’t wanna die. Allie, don’t let him kill me. Don’t let him kill us, Allie. Please. I don’t want anybody to die. Don't let any of us die.”

“I won’t,” Allison promises. Not says, not reassures, _promises_. Allison is going to keep this promise. “He’s not gonna hurt us anymore, Five. He’s not-- We’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

Five isn’t in his room that night. Many of them aren’t. The only one in her proper bedroom is Allison, but there just happen to be six other children sleeping there.

Breakfast is when she decides.

Or not decides. Chooses a time. She’s decided since last night, and probably long before that. After Dad dismisses them for training, she doesn’t get out of her seat, ignoring her siblings’ stares.

Five looks at her with a cool gaze, and nods once.

“Dad,” Allison says to her father, right before he opens his mouth to scold her for not leaving once she has been dismissed. “I have a question.”

“Knowledge is an admirable goal, Number Three,” her father says in that uppity tone of his. “But you have been dismissed for training. Get to it.”

“No, actually, I don’t think I will. In fact, my question is more of a suggestion. Statement, if you will, Dad.”

“Number Three, do not dare use your Rumor. There will be severe consequences.” His stupid monocle glints.

Allison smiles sweetly, like she’s done so many times for the cameras. “I’m not gonna,” she tells him. “I don’t need to.” It sounds sinister. If she squints, she thinks she can see Reginald pale. Good.

“What is the meaning of this, Number Three?”

“Oh, nothing. I just needed to tell you that the front door is open. You’re gonna get up, walk to it, leave the house, and walk into the street. The traffic, to be exact.”

“Number Three-”

But it’s too late. His eyes glaze over, and he stands up. Allison steps out of his way as he starts walking. She waves at him.

“Really sad that Reginald Hargreeves was actually suicidal, isn’t it?” she asks Five as he appears beside her. “And to think, his poor wife Grace Hargreeves will have to raise their children all alone. He didn’t even say goodbye before walking into traffic and getting run over.”

“Tragic,” Five remarks dryly. “Do you think it’ll make the headlines?”

“Oh, for sure.”

Five smirks. “You’re really something, Allison.”

She laughs. “Yeah, well, I heard a rumor we were all anything but ordinary.”

She’s joking, but nearby, a wine glass shatters and Vanya looks at the violin she’s holding, memories spinning through her head.

The Umbrella Academy never goes on another mission, although they can frequently be seen at Griddy’s Doughnuts with their mother. It’s truly tragic how their father killed himself, don’t you think? Even sadder how none of the children seemed to despair long over it.

**Author's Note:**

> The ending is rushed, but guess what! The Good Sister Allie content makes up for that! Allison is a great character and idk why people don't like her! I'm giving my queen the recognition she deserves.
> 
> My tumblr is [@seven-misfits](https://seven-misfits.tumblr.com/). Drop a line, I'd like to know what you thought :)


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